


Bilingual

by stuffbyshelbyfics



Series: Witchy Pines [11]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fuck Off Please, Gen, Hypnotism, i would really appreciate it if stancest shippers would keep away from my fics, i'm not about that thanks, this goes for adult/child shippers too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/pseuds/stuffbyshelbyfics
Summary: concept: ford making sleep/relaxation triggers for stan in spanish and all the other languages he knows for times when stan can't remember which past fake id he's using





	Bilingual

Stan Pines - or as he currently called himself, Andrew “Eight-Ball” Alcatraz - blinked and was immediately almost overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness. He stumbled and caught himself on a bookshelf, which was strange because the last place he remembered himself being was his apartment in Columbia. Oh, well. Rico must have caught up to him. He shook the last shreds of confusion off and looked around the strange, curved cabin where he was being held. Footsteps thumped on wood from another compartment, and he fumbled for a makeshift weapon as someone else walked in on him.

The guy looked much older than him, and wore a slightly concerned look as he registered the resigned panic on Andrew’s face.

“So is Rico here too, or what?” Andrew asked in Spanish, keeping his clenched fist laying lightly on the desk. The older man’s eyes widened. “Stanley?” he said in English, “It’s me, Ford. Your brother?”

So the guy was another crazy prisoner. “Hey, buddy, I don’t want any trouble,” he said, putting his hands in the air, “I just wanna know where Rico is.”

The guy’s expression seemed to clear. “Stanley,” he said, raising his hand, “ _duérmete_.” And snapped his fingers.

The world went black.

When Andrew woke up, he was kneeling on the floor. The other prisoner’s arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, rubbing his back. It felt comfortingly familiar in a way that he couldn’t quite place.

“ _Duérmete_ ”, Stanley,” he was saying, “Sleeep. Just sleep. It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re home.”

What was happening? Who was Stanl…

He felt dizzy again, even worse than before. Fireworks went off in front of his eyes, and he swayed in the other man’s hold. All at once, he sank like a stone under the dark waters of unconsciousness… and came floating back up like a cork.

Stanley opened his eyes, the Spanish word for sleep still fading from his mind. He detached his face from Ford’s shoulder and tried to speak.

“Wh…” he started over. “Who was it this time?”

“I don’t know, but you were speaking Spanish again,” Ford said.

“Sounds like ol’ ‘Eight-Ball’.” He sighed. “Can I take a nap now?”

Ford chuckled gently. “Of course.”


End file.
